Broken Halo
by le-renegat
Summary: Ryuu's denial has struck him hard. Ryuu/Hitomi, from Miyamoto Kano's Hydra.


**Fandom:** Hydra

**Pairing:** Ryuu/Hitomi

**Disclaimer/warnings:** Hydra and its sequels are not mine. They belong to Miyamoto Kano entirely, so please don't sue me.

This piece contains _**yaoi**_ or, as you may call it, _**male/male**_ relationship. Life's very short, why waste your time reading something that doesn't suit your taste?

_(I mildly wonder _why_ there isn't a single fanfic for this wonderful series...)_

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**Broken Halo**

**by le-renégat (Lou)**

**---  
**

Time sure does pass by fast, it suddenly struck him as he laid on bed staring at the ceiling, absent-mindedly playing with dyed blond hair locks. The strong smell of sex, latex and put-out cigarettes invaded his nostrils, and he felt sick. He didn't know for sure if it was actually the smell that disgusted him or the fact that he was denying the essence of who he truly was. Or who he was in love with, for that matter.

_There is no need for love when you are having sex._

That's what he told himself whenever Hitomi's face came into his mind, whenever he thought of how many ladies he had laid on his very own bed.

Soft groans indicated that this one girl he had brought home the night before had just woken up. Her long red nails just didn't seem right against the soft white sheets, and her languid form extended on the bed made his eyes water with guilt. Her amber eyes looked at him intensely, as if calling him, trying to pull him towards her again.

He sighed, walking silent steps to the window sill, feeling scrutinous eyes dig holes into his bare back. He didn't like being watched. He didn't like being looked at by _these_ eyes. He didn't like this nameless woman's fingers tracing his tatoo's outlines.

'So, you up for another one?'

'No.'

Silence. Morbid, seemingly endless silence.

'No?'

'No. Get out.'

The storming flash of dyed hair waved past him, the clicking of high heels on the floor and the slam of the door telling him he was now alone. Maybe he hadn't meant to be so cruel, maybe he should have never brought her there in the first place.

Then he thought of Hitomi and buried his head in his hands.

---

The noon sun woke him, merciless. Used condoms looked up at him from the floor, and he couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself. For having denied love, for having cast Hitomi aside. Sex meant addiction in a life with no love. You didn't think while having sex. You felt nothing but the pleasure.

There wasn't anything like dancing tongues or electric sparks. There were just empty kisses, just the acid saliva taste and cold hands touching white skin. There was just the guilt and the pain of never being able to give himself fully to someone, the pain of his resolve.

It was cruel of Hitomi to still call him and ask him if he could draw his picture. It was as if he was important to him solely for his modeling purposes. He felt like a crystal statue, admired, worshiped, but never touched, never embraced. He just felt cold and dead.

He had called the day before, asking if he could come yet again, explaining Hikaru wouldn't come along this time. _Fine_, he had said, hanging up.

Now he sat on the lone bed, staring at the dancing curtains, waiting for the ringing bell. The limbo head of the dragon seemed to sink further, if possible.

'Ryuu?'

He turned, staring at Hitomi's impossibly clear eyes. Oh, so the door had been left open. He shrugged, turning his back to the young man, positioning himself as usual.

But there were no footsteps to be heard.

'What is it?'

'What happened here?'

'Yeh talking about the floor, the bed or the door?'

'I'm talking about you.'

The following silence seemed monstruous, engulfing him. He felt his eyes water, but he blinked the tears back.

'What in Hell's name has happened to you?'

'Yeh.'

He could _feel _Hitomi's voice arch and creak inside his throat, trying to form coherent words, but there was just faintly disturbed silence. Endless, meaningful silence.

'Yeh's happen'd to me. If I'm like this, it's yer fault.'

He turned around, darkened face glaring at the other's helpless expression. It was not his fault, really, it was their both. It was Hitomi's fault as much as it was his own, denial coming up and slapping him in the face. As much as he wanted to cry and kiss the other man until they both passed out, he knew he couldn't - it would overcome the barriers they'd build around themselves.

'I'm so sorry.'

And they both knew it couldn't be helped and it didn't matter just how much they really _were_ sorry. He felt as if he was being torn apart as he pinned Hitomi's wrists on his bed and made love to him, sobbing with each kiss and caress. They both cried because they knew no matter how many times they had sex, nothing would ever change. When the day dawned, their treacherous and damned reality would be waiting.

As they woke up, neither said a word. Hitomi stood up, bare body shining in the morning sun as he collected the rubbish lying on the floor. Condoms, cigarettes, paper, torn clothes, everything he couldn't bring himself to pick up. He felt childish, inhuman, pathethic.

'_God, _I love yeh so _fuckin' _much, Hitomi.'

And without sparing him a word, said man put his own clothes on and left.

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As always, forgive me for any language mistakes, as english is not my first language. Halo is for _Depeche Mode_'s '_Halo_'. I'm quite sad for not being able to go to their concert in São Paulo. :/


End file.
